


Available

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Series: Ineffable Kinktober 2020 [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Lovers, Jealous Aziraphale, Kinktober 2020, Light BDSM, M/M, just the ramblings of an ineffable bdsm expert, or maybe more like annoyed Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26997595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Aziraphale's feathers are ruffled a bit when a young lady calls his shop in search of his husband. Of course, for strange, pushy women, Crowley is not available.For Aziraphale, on the other hand, Crowley is always available.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Kinktober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961338
Comments: 16
Kudos: 122





	Available

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'bondage/bound'.

_Ring-ring!_

…

_Ring-ring!_

…

_Ring-ring!_

…

_Ring-ring!_

…

_Ring-ring!_

Aziraphale huffs when his phone rings five times. Five times! After three, most people have the decency to give up. But whomever is calling him now doesn’t seem to get the hint. It rings a sixth time, then a _seventh._ Aziraphale growls _,_ annoyed when the new digital answering machine Crowley bought for him doesn’t pick up and end his suffering. Of course, that could be because he didn’t turn it on. He doesn’t get many calls to his bookshop. And the ones he misses … he doesn’t really care to know what they want.

If they’re looking to buy a book, he’d rather not be informed.

The only time he cares to answer his phone is when he knows it might be Crowley, and Crowley wouldn’t be calling just now.

Because Crowley is with him.

One glance over Aziraphale’s shoulder and he can see his husband, whenever he’d like.

Which means the person on the other end of that phone call is most likely a _customer_.

After the ninth ring, Aziraphale grabs the receiver, determined not to let it get to ten, but he doesn’t do it out of curiosity, and he definitely doesn’t do it out of customer service.

He wants to nip this in the bud so that they won’t call back. Then he’ll leave the blasted thing off its hook and get on with his relaxing afternoon.

“A. Z. Fell and Company, how may I help you? … Mr. Crowley?” Aziraphale sits up when the woman on the line says his husband’s name. “You’re looking for Mr. Crowley? … He’s not available right now …” Aziraphale removes his glasses and sets them on his desk. “I’m not giving you a tone, young lady. I’m surprised you would be calling for him here … Yes, he is often here. He’s my _husband_ ,” he stresses, not too pleased by this woman’s flirty - and _urgent -_ tone. “But he normally gives his associates and anyone else of importance his cellular phone number. So if he didn’t, I’m afraid he’s just not that into you.”

From his corner of Aziraphale’s back room, Crowley snuffles a laugh.

Aziraphale’s face sours when the woman on the phone spits a few particularly nasty words at him. “There is no need for that kind of language. You called _me_ , remember?” Without another word, Aziraphale hangs up. Thinking better of keeping his phone on its hook, he removes the receiver and sets it carefully on his desk. “Rude,” he mutters. “Did you really need me to do your dirty work for you, my dear?”

“Mm! Mmm … mmph-phmm mm phmmphm.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrows at his husband’s bizarre reply … until he remembers. “Oh. Right.” Aziraphale snaps his fingers, tearing the silver tape from his husband’s mouth with a resounding _Rrrriiiipppp!!!_ Crowley yelps in pain.

“That smarts!” Crowley whines, rolling his jaw. “Wot did ya do that for? You could have just made it disappear! Jesus Chris…!” Crowley starts, but a firm glare from Aziraphale stops him in his tracks. Swearing is one thing, but he won’t have his husband taking the Lord’s name in vain, not to mention his uncalled for complaining.

“I believe you were explaining …” Aziraphale re-directs calmly.

“Uh, yes … well,” Crowley stutters, knowing he’s in trouble, “she wouldn’t take no for an answer. And besides - I knew you’d be better at handling it. You know, get the point across.”

Crowley smirks.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

He did that on purpose. Aziraphale knows he did. Gave that pushy woman his phone number knowing she would call looking for him.

To ruffle his feathers a bit.

Of course Crowley is the one standing buck naked with his arms wrapped around a wood support pillar, his wrists duct taped tight to keep him in place. He’d had a matching piece of tape over his mouth till a minute ago.

Regardless, he’s not exactly in a position to ruffle much of anything at the moment.

“So … I’m not available, huh?” Crowley says, switching the subject.

“That’s right.”

“But I thought that’s why you taped me here. So I’d _always_ be available.”

“Yes, available to _me_ , dear. Everyone else can - pardon my language - shove it.”

“Well … isn’t that the _other_ reason I’m here?” Crowley bounces his eyebrows, both together, then one at a time, shaking his arse in an attempt to get his angel to crack.

Aziraphale grins, the right corner of his mouth sliding slowly up his cheek. “Why, yes, it is,” he says, snapping his store door locked with his left hand and with his right, lowering the zip to his trousers. “And I dare say … we’re long past due.”


End file.
